


The Blue Petal and the White

by JQ (musicmillennia)



Category: Assassin's Creed
Genre: Connor has no idea what to do with innuendos, F/M, Flirting, Prostitution, Sexual Humor, Strong Language, and wants Haytham to notice him, fucking Charles Lee, not literally just that he's a toolbag as always
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-05
Updated: 2015-02-05
Packaged: 2018-03-10 13:52:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,709
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3292763
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/musicmillennia/pseuds/JQ
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Connor received a note at the Homestead asking to talk to a "Bluebell" at a place called Mrs. Barnett's in Boston concerning Charles Lee's imminent demise. He and this woman discuss business, and a couple shocking twists come out of their little talk.</p><p>(Title shamelessly taken from the book, The Crimson Petal and the White. I highly recommend it.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Blue Petal and the White

**Author's Note:**

> Alright, I know. Connor/OC. But come on people, what else do you expect me to do? I want some more of Connor's wife, and this is how I can get it, because Connorline would inevitably be separated by obligations elsewhere and I've read the rest of the other prospects.
> 
> Promise I'll try to make it good? Really, I thank you for even giving this a chance. :D
> 
> Short one-shot for now, but who knows? I'll see what you guys want. I need a break from schoolwork anyhow.

Boston was like New York in the sense that it never seemed to sleep. Even at such an hour as when Connor arrived, people were out and about, talking, drinking, cajoling, their behavior only slightly altered for the worse due to the time of night. The teeming life was something of a consolation for him; he hasn't been long at this whole Assassin business, but that hardly decreases his body count. To witness such a lively atmosphere, to breathe it in, is refreshing, despite the pungent odors that accompany his breath.

Expelling the smells of human waste and alcohol, Connor glanced at the parchment in his hand. He had received it barely a month before, riding out straightaway to answer it.

_You want Lee? I'll help you. Mrs. Barnett's, bit away from Union Street. Come at earliest convenience. Ask for Bluebell._

Achilles knew of the place, though not through experience. When Connor asked what he meant by that, he merely replied, "I suspect you will find out." frustrating as always, giving Connor yet another incentive--though another was hardly necessary, given the note's content--to get to this Mrs. Barnett's as quickly as possible.

It was an unassuming building, two stories high, crammed between a tavern and an inn. The sign bearing its name was small, painted green with yellow calligraphy, next to a freshly coated door. There were windows, all covered with thick curtains of nondescript colors. Connor had no memory of seeing this building before, though he was sure he must have passed it countless times on his way to Union Street. Dismounting his steed and tethering it to a nearby post, he chastised himself for not being more observant; if he was to accomplish what he set out to do, he had to be more vigilant.

Connor cross-referenced the building with the note's instructions once more, took a deep breath, and knocked on the door, bracing himself as he always did before talking to the colonists. Their ways of associating with one another was strange to him; often he found he did not like it.

The door was opened by a dainty dark hand, revealing a likewise dark-skinned woman's face. She leaned with one arm unabashedly above her head, bracing it on the door. A lustful smirk melted her painted lips, dark eyes sparking with mischief that went quite well with her low cut dress and low-hanging shawl, all various shades of cream.

"Why hello there," she grinned, "Not many men knock. Always nice to have a  _proper_ gentlemen."

By now, Connor had realized his mistake in not preparing himself longer than the time he took. Swallowing thickly, he kept his eyes carefully on the woman's forehead. "Um," he said, "I was told...is there a 'Bluebell' here?"

The woman gasped, eyes going comically wide. "Oh, dear," she breathed, African accent apparent, "first time out and yah want the rough stuff?"

Connor nearly choked on his own saliva. "F-first time?"

"Aw, don't look so offended," the woman cooed, pouting, "Innocence is an easy thing t'take care of. And you're such a..." Connor felt his cheeks heat as she eyed his groin, " _big_ boy. I'm sure we can accommodate."

He carefully hid the note in the pocket of his coat before slowly clasping his hands over his waist. If she noticed, she gave no indication, merely continued looking him up and down with that smirk.

"Well, Bluebell's upstairs," she said at length, "Come inside, dear, and I can get her for yah."

Connor nodded, "Thank you."

"So sweet," the woman sighed, stepping backwards to allow him entrance into a small front room with a staircase immediately in front of the door, and off to the left two green couches, the farthest one having a clock ticking quietly above it. An oak desk stood in the corner with papers splattered all over its surface. In the dim candlelight, Connor could see the grey wallpaper depicting Eastern images of people...committing acts not appropriate for public view.

The woman spoke again. "Sure you don't want me for company instead? Wouldn't want Bluebell to have  _all_ the fun, would yah?"

"A-ah, that is not necessary--"

"Bea, stop harassin' the poor man and get back upstairs. 'E's askin' fer yah."

Whoever 'he' was made Bea hum and start to the stairs, saying, "Again? Can't get enough of me, eh?"

A new woman came down as she went up, hips swaying, giving Connor one last wink before she disappeared to the second floor.

"Sorry 'bout that, sir," the newcomer sighed, approaching him with in a more businesslike manner that set Connor a tiny bit at ease. He could deal with business. "Bea loves a good tall, 'andsome dark strangah."

Connor did not know how to respond to that, so he decided on asking, "Are you Bluebell?"

"To me clients, sir. To potential friends an' colleagues, it's Annie." she held out her hand to shake, and he took it. "Do sit down, sir. We've a lot to talk about."

They sat across from each other on the couches. She leaned to the side, resting her elbow on the couch's arm, showing her face in the light. A defined square jaw, hawk nose, and sharp light eyes regarded him steadily. They held a spark of something hard, something that was built on the life she'd ended up living, like a rock slowly beaten down by the sea but refused to move regardless. She had fair skin and golden hair tied in a hasty bun; she wore a black dress and corset, no shoes to speak of, ankles and legs on full display as she crossed them.

"What should I call yah?" she asked in the silence of their mutual study. "'Cause I ain't callin' an ally 'sir' if this works out."

"Connor," he answered.

"You got a last name, Mistah Connah?"

This was a question Connor had often pondered himself. Did he take his father's name? It was the custom of the colonists for the son to take his father's surname, after all. Yet Achilles had been more of a father to him than Haytham could ever hope to be; however, would Achilles respond well to Connor's taking the name Davenport? Then again, he had been told of Achilles' son, Connor Davenport. Was that permission? A familial claim?

He had been silent too long. Annie shrugged, "'S fine if y'don't wanna tell me. I ain't got one meself. Girls in my kinda work can't 'ave a past, y'know. But, onto business. Takin' it yah got my note?" Connor produced it. "I'll answer yer questions first, seein' as you likely got some. 'Ow I knew yous was lookin' fer that Charles Lee man, and 'ow I knew where t'send the note, fer example."

"I admit I was curious as to how you acquired this information."

Annie smiled, small and guarded. "My kind's been workin' wiv yours fer centuries, Mistah Connah. Assassins gotta 'ave an undahground network, eh?" she chuckled, a deep-throated, slightly raspy sound, at his evident surprise. "Yeah, I know 'bout 'em. Be in this business long enough, y'learn to pick up on some impor'ant fings, learn wot t'look for. Even Templars got their 'ands deep in our shit, grabbin' 'round fer secrets an' such like."

"What is it that you look for?"

"The right kinda drink," Annie shrugged, "That Thomas 'ickey ain't got no chance. Pick th'right poison, 'e'll vomit it all up an' not r'member a fing come mornin'."

Connor was fascinated by this new information, but more than that he needed to know, "What did you get from him?"

"Ah-ah-ah," Annie smirked, slow and languid. Connor felt his cheeks warm again. "I've shown yah only one card I got 'n my skirt, but I'm gonna need somefin' from you if I'm to give th' whole 'and. Yer cause is all well an' good, Mistah Connah, but I want somefin' a bit more...tangible." she leaned forward, showing a generous hint of her cleavage. "Somefin' I can touch."

Connor cleared his throat, keeping his eyes studiously at her eyes. "I am afraid I do not understand what the Assassins can give to a woman of...your profession."

Annie chortled, "A little pup, tha's what you are. So adorable. I could just take yah in my lap and pet yah all day." she eyed his groin like her colleague had not a minute before. "Or I could sit in yours. Looks like there's plenty a somefin' t'cushion my arse."

Connor's mind screeched to a resounding halt. His response was, "Um..." which caused her to laugh into her hand.

"Oh, relax, Mistah Connah!" she said, playfully smacking his knee, "We're business associates. Just 'avin some fun wiv yah."

"Right. Of course." he found no humor in this situation, though she apparently thought it positively hilarious.

"Pup," she concluded. Then, with no trace of smile on her face, told him, "No, I only got two conditions." she held up her fingers and counted off, "One, I wanna be there when yah drive that blade a yours into Lee's wretched neck. Yer not the only one 'ho's got it out fer 'im, and I wanna watch some justice get done. Two's a bit more complica'ed, and I'll give yah time t'talk to yer Mentor fer it."

Her abrupt change in demeanor made Connor start, but he kept his face blank. "What is it?" he asked.

"I wan' in."

"...I do not understand."

"The Assassins. I wanna join yer li'l club."

"It is not a club. It is a Brotherhood."

"Well, eiver way, I wanna get that fancy blade and that fancy 'ood."

Connor raised an eyebrow. "Being part of the Assassins is not only wearing the hood and using the blade. It requires--"

Annie held up her hand. "Mistah Connah, please," she sighed, "spare me the lectah, eh? I got the message, overwise I'd just be askin' t'help yah kill Lee."

"Why do you wish to see him dead?"

"So many questions...well, why do yah wanna kill 'im?"

Connor's jaw clenched. "He killed my mother," he murmured, phantom smoke threatening to choke him over four muttered words.

Annie smiled again, only this time with a genuine empathy that made her eyes shine. "We're in th' same boat, then," she replied in the same volume, "'e killed my father. Stabbed 'im right in th' heart one night, left my mum an' me t'rot." she heaved another sigh, "But like I said, can't 'ave a past, only a future. An' I want my future t'be in that Brovahood, wiv Lee's blood stainin' my footsteps."

Connor could certainly understand her motives. "I will talk to my Mentor as you suggest. It is his decision after all."

"Tha's all I ask," Annie nodded, "I got some parchment 'ere. Ifin' yah don't mind, Mistah Connah, I'd like t'see you write an' send that le'ah. I'm sure y'understand." Connor inclined his head. "Wondaful! Then let's 'ide you in that cupboard!"

Connor blinked. "Wait, what?"

"Well, i's a minute tah midnight, if I'm not mistaken," Annie chirped, standing and offering her hand. "This one customah, 'e's very prompt. Kinda fascinatin' when yah think about it. Wouldn't want 'im t'get a bad impression, lettin' an armed man in a 'ood into our establishment. Not good fer business. Come, come, we don' got all night!"

Thus Connor was dragged towards a little door under the stairs and stuffed inside, quite a feat considering his size and the cramped space of the cupboard. Annie shut the door with a finger to her lips, leaving her new ally in darkness.

Footsteps sounded on the stairs, too steady for a drunk man. Rustling, like fabric, most likely Annie settling down on the couch. Connor attempted in vain not to imagine her posing suggestively as her leering tone of voice implied.

"'Ope dear Bea was satisfyin' to yer needs, Mastah Kenway. Lightest dark shade we got 'ere."

Connor's heart froze in his chest as he heard a man's curt grunt, quickly followed by a door closing. That couldn't have been...yet who else would be at a brothel at this time of night with those sure, deliberate steps and cold civility?

More footsteps, lighter. Bea's voice came from above him. "Prompt as usual," she said, sounding as if she was pouting again.

"Ho-hum," Annie replied, "Maybe one day you'll get 'im a second late. Then who knows? Maybe even a whole minute!"

"Ha, ha. I see you did a wonderful job at keeping  _your_ man. Did you two get on it right here, or was he too shy in the end?"

Connor debated on whether or not to escape the cupboard's stuffy confines, when Annie's footsteps approached the door as a hidden warning. "What man?"

Bea barked a laugh. "As if you could forget a cock like that! I could choke myself sucking him off, and I only had to get one look at it."

Ah. Uh. Hm. Well, that is...Connor fidgeted, now wide-eyed and staring dumbly at the door. These ladies were certainly--candid.

Annie laughed with her, "Oh,  _that_ man. Turns out he was jus' lookin' for 'is friend, 'oo told 'im about seein' me ta-night."

"Ah. What a little treasure he was. So much potential to please, yet so polite. Did you see his face earlier? Poor lamb."

"Mm, yes. Too bad, eh? Well, best go freshen up, unless Kenway tore you a new one."

Connor suppressed a disgusted shudder. To find out about his father's escapades was bad enough--he would rather not listen to the details.

Unfortunately, the spirits did not see fit to spare him, for Bea said, "No. For someone so domineering, he's oddly gentle. Absolutely _insists_ on a blindfold over his eyes and not a sound from my mouth. 'Actions speak for themselves,' he says." 

 _Please stop,_ Connor thought desperately. But Annie asked incredulously, "'E's a sub?"

"If you would believe it. If he wasn't so set on a woman with darker skin, I'd send him to you. I think I made some lasting marks on his back. Loves the whip, that one."  _Oh God._

"Well, I'll be a monkey's arse. Wot about 'air pullin'?"

"Oh, he can't get enough of that, either."  _I am going to be sick_. "Definitely an older man, but active as a twenty year old, I tell you."

"Did yah bind 'im?"

"I did most everything, Annie."  ** _Let me out of_** _**here.**_ "And when I took the blindfold off, I am to do so behind him so he only sees my hands, not my face. I think he's thinking of someone else."

"Shame. You'll 'afta tell me more latah."

"Certainly. I'm always open to indulging your sadistic streak, dear. It's endlessly entertaining."

"Glad it amuses yah. 'Til then, Bea."

"'Til then." and Bea retreated up the stairs. After the faint sound of a door shutting, Connor barreled out of the cupboard, leaving Annie to jump at his sudden action.

"Goodness, Mistah Connah!" she hissed, putting a hand over her heart, "Wot's a mattah wiv you? Y'look like yah just caught yer mum an' dad 'avin a go in the sheets!"

Judging by her language so far, it was clear she was being purposely delicate with her last statement. Connor only shook his head and gestured to the desk. "I have a letter to write," he told her, somehow suddenly short of breath.

Annie eyed him once more--wide eyes, which if she didn't know better had a traumatized look about them, open, panting mouth, moist, broad chest heaving. Didn't matter if he was a Native or not, Annie knew for certain this earnest man, who despite being a trained killer was sweet as a pup, could take the most upstanding person in the community to bed and run them raw, man or woman. She couldn't deny that she wanted a go herself.

Well, mixing business with a little pleasure never harmed anyone.

Striding towards the desk's drawer, where Mrs. Barnett kept her clear parchment, Annie made sure there was a definite sway in her hips. Connor's eyes were inevitably drawn to her form, though the little dear quickly drew his eyes to the clock on the wall.

"Yes," she grinned, "I b'lieve you do."

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks a bunch for reading! If you want this to be continued, I wouldn't be totally opposed. Like I said, a break in schoolwork is awesome, and there's a couple things I have in mind for these crazy kids.
> 
> Oh, and if you care: my other Assassin's Creed story, Wish Fulfilled...yah, the next chapter has words, I promise. I can never be satisfied with it is the problem.


End file.
